Thursday, April 8, 2010

On Friday we arrived in Halkida (hour outside of Athens) for theafternoon to visit the friends of Shelley’s cousin, and didn't manageto leave for three days. First we had an enormous meal from a seasidetaverna and then we played a game of basketball, three on three,Shelley and I and a fifteen year old kid against three full aged Greekmen. It was a very competitive rowdy game, and we beat themthouroughly, and in retrospect we wondered whether we had presented alittle too much of a challenge to the masculinity of the village soearly in our visit. It was easter weekend and it was Good Friday. Thisis the “Sad day” they explained. Someone brought a couple of bottles of wine and ouzo to acliff overlooking the ocean. We had “apperatifs” until it was time togo to the procession, in which a candle-lit bier was led from a churchthrough the streets to the main square, where it was met byprocessions from nine other directions. We all held long tallcandles. “This is the funeral of the Christ” they explained. Thepriest talked over a microphone for some time, until everyone becameimpatient and went to a café by the water for drinks. Someone bought alarge floating leopard balloon for the three year old child who waswith us. We then headed back to a woman named Elena’s apartment. “This is thesad day”, they said. “Oh, we must stop in the church.” We enter thechurch, about fifteen people, and a stroller. The large floatingleopard gently ducked under the door frame and then ascended uptowards the dome of the church. The group went to the little shrine topay their respects, in partially hushed voices, and then adoor opened at the inner sanctuary of the church, and a priest with ablack robe, black skull cap, and long white beard came out. He lookedaround in horror, and then finally pointed up in the air, unmistakablypinpointing the giant floating leopard, and after a moment pronounced:“TI INE AFTO??” “What. Is. That?”There was a small discussion betweenthe people as to whether the priest was right to ban the leopard fromthe church, and then we left, on this saddest day of the year, andmade our way to Elena’s apartment where we drank hot ouzowith honey and danced traditional circle dances in between the couchand the bookshelves.

We stayed with 32 year old Costakis who lived with his mama in theirvery large house, and were treated to fresh squeezed orange juice andendless offers of coffee, pastries and house shoes.In the afternoon the group had a seafood feast at a taverna on thebeach, and at night we gathered at the church for the midnight mass.After the church we headed back to the house for the main meal, and cracking of red eggs, etc. Themothers came back from the church at 3 am shortly after which we left,slept for a few hours, and gathered at 9 am in a smaller village, alittle higher up in towards the mountains, to begin roasting FOURlambs on spits over the fire (one from each family), and two largebraided sausages filled with innards. I was popular at turning thespit because I would sing to the lamb I was roasting, and there was acompetition as to whose would turn out the best. Kind family memberswould keep up my strength with choice pieces of innards, which Igraciously accepted. At a certain point the biggest gruffest mama ofthe family, chin hair and all, dragged Shelley inside the house anddressed her in her traditional gear, maroon velvet with goldembroidery and white apron and head scarf, straight out of a pagentplay, which we think was somehow connected to her wedding celebration.

She had Shelley dance, pose for pictures, turn the lamb on the spit,sit on the tractor. There was big feast, anddancing, and games. At a certain point Elpina (owner of thetraditional dress) and two other mamas apparently challenged Shelleyand I to a game of basketball. We went up the road, to a court with afull view of the mountains and countryside, with many other adults andchildren along, but the short solid mamas dressed in greys and blackscontinue on down the road. “They are going to the church, but theywant you to play basketball.” Although I was very sad to have missedwhat would definitely have been the most amazing match ever, I washonored that word of our initial basketball triumph over theirprecious sons had somehow been taken with some kind of feministapproval and not Greek mother-in-law style revenge.

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About Me

Jessica Weinstein is an actress and interactive artist. She most often works with her company, Anonymous Ensemble, Lee Breuer and Mabou Mines, and other visual and performing artists. She has an insatiable wanderlust, an ear for languages, and a thirst to explore new forms of performance every day. She has performed in theaters on every continent but Antarctica, and in venues from underground clubs to the National Opera of Greece, from Madison Square Garden to the Kennedy Center.